


The Canary In The Coal Mine

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-03
Updated: 2012-11-03
Packaged: 2019-05-15 22:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14799545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: The East Wing has their first win and the West Wing has it's first disaster.





	The Canary In The Coal Mine

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

EPISODE 8.4 – Written by Jo March

The Canary in the coal Mine

TEASER

INT. WEST WING LOBBY, CONTINUOUS—FRIDAY MORNING

Lester Charles had certain criteria he used when deciding whether or not it was going to be a good day. No major editorials in the morning papers criticizing the Santos administration? Good day. No waiting in line at Starbuck's for his morning coffee? Good day. Not needing an umbrella for the walk from his apartment to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue? Good day. Getting to his office without being accosted by anyone who ranked higher than he did on the West Wing food chain? Extremely good day.

So far this morning, he'd read editorials in the Times and the Post about the stalled vice-presidential confirmation and the Ziegler pardon; he'd waited 15 minutes for his venti decaf espresso roast; the rain had started two blocks before he reached the White House; and now Lou Thornton was waiting in the lobby for him, clutching a copy of the Post and tapping her feet impatiently.

"We need a win," she announced.

"Good morning to you too, Louise," he replied.

"Today, Lester," she repeated as they walked toward the Communications offices. "We need a win today."

"Why today?"

"Because it's Friday. Because tomorrow's Saturday. And you know what follows Saturday?"

"A Sunday morning hangover?"

Lou glared at him. "Sunday talk shows. Pundits talking on all the major networks, and a few minor ones, about how the Santos administration is too busy cleaning up after Jed Bartlet to start working on our own agenda. That sets up the news cycle for the next week. Do you want to spend next week talking about Toby Ziegler and Baker's record on clemency?"

"Well," Lester answered, "it beats repeating 'the White House does not comment on the private lives of its staff' five times a day."

"Trust me, this week's sound bites won't be any better than last week's if we don't get out there and take over the news cycle now."

Lester, trying to balance his briefcase, the newspaper he'd read during his fifteen-minute wait at Starbuck's, his umbrella and his coffee cup, was having trouble keeping pace with his agitated boss. He stopped long enough to hand over the umbrella and coffee cup to a startled assistant and rushed to catch up to Lou.

"It's not like I can manufacture a win for this administration out of thin air," he said.

"Lester, Lester, Lester," Lou replied, shaking her head, "haven't you ever heard of the concept of spin?"

"How am I supposed to spin this—'Hey, look on the bright side, guys! At least they haven't ridden Baker out of town on a rail'?"

"No, what you're supposed to do is find something, anything, that we can rightfully claim as a victory for this administration. As many federal agencies as we've got in this town, there must be one that's doing something right. What's on the agenda for this morning's briefing?"

Lester mentally reviewed the list he'd prepared last night. "There are a couple of undersecretary appointments."

"Boring."

"Sam and Ainsley are working on the Superfund suit."

"And when they've reported back to us, we'll have something to spin there. Right now, it's too early."

"I think the FDA has some kind of press conference set for today. Something about women's health."

"The HPV vaccine?"

"Right. That's it."

Lou tilted her head to one side, considering. "Tough fight with the religious right on that one, but we can spin it. What time's the hearing?"

"This morning."

"That won't work. Tell them to move it back to this afternoon."

"I can do that?"

"You can point out that it's to their advantage. They announce this morning and they get 20 seconds on Nightly News. They announce this afternoon, we'll send along a couple of senators and congresswomen; it'll be a press event. They can line up some cancer survivors to speak about the issue. Now it's a three-minute piece with heartwarming stories of courageous women. Our friends on the religious right will want to take over the story, yelling about how we're advocating vaccinating little girls against STDs. But they can't start rallying the troops until Saturday. Meanwhile, we've contacted Meet the Press, Face the Nation, Capital Beat—we've lined up some heavyweights from our side to get out there and talk about the underlying health story. Major talking point: We're for curing cancer. We win."

"And you want me to get started on all this now?"

"Work it into the 3 o'clock briefing."

"Right. Cure cancer by 3 o'clock. I can do that. No problem."

As Lester headed toward his office, he had no doubt that it was going to be a bad day.

"We're curing cancer today?"

Lou glanced around to see who had just spoken. She should have realized it was Ainsley Hayes. The only other woman she knew with that moonlight-and-magnolias accent was Annabeth, who rarely left the East Wing these days. She supposed there was some sort of variation in their dialects that other Southerners could pick up on, but she was a Jersey girl herself and it all sounded like Foghorn Leghorn to her.

"The FDA's curing cancer. Cervical cancer, anyway. Or, well, they're approving a vaccine that—"

Ainsley nodded. "HPV. That's not going to play well with conservative religious groups, you know."

"We're on it. Your guys are going to lose this one."

"If by 'my guys,' you are implying that my views will necessarily reflect the prevailing attitudes of, say, Jane Braun, you are making a faulty assumption. Indeed, if I had a daughter, I would insist on her receiving this vaccination."

Lou narrowed her eyes and looked at Ainsley skeptically. "Hayes, are you sure you're a

Republican?" 

"Oh, yes. Would you like me to show you the secret handshake?"

"Don't believe her," another voice chimed in. Sam Seaborn, it seemed, had caught up to Lou and Ainsley somewhere between the cancer cure and the secret handshake. "She promised to give me the keys to the Republicans' hidden lair years ago, and I'm still waiting."

How, Lou wondered, did Ainsley manage to look both flirtatious and sarcastic with just a tilt of her head? And—oh, God--did this mean that Seaborn and Hayes had the potential to replace Lyman and Moss on the front page of the nation's more popular scandal sheets?

"I had every intention of passing those keys along, Sam, but then you ran for public office. I could hardly risk exposing hundreds of years of secret conservative documents to a liberal member of Congress now, could I?"

"Okay," Lou said, "I'm sure you both think you're being hilarious, but I have important work to do. Just be sure that you keep me in the loop about what happens with your trip to Washington, okay?"

Sam nodded his agreement. Lou wandered off in the direction of her office. Ainsley, on the other hand, seemed to be heading toward her old haunts.

"Hey, Ainsley," he called out. "You know you don't work in the basement any longer, don't you?"

"For your information, Sam, I was going to the Mess. I need to eat before we leave for the airport."

"I should have known," Sam mumbled.

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day."

"I'm not disagreeing."

"If you wish to join me, we could discuss the lawsuit while we eat."

"Then what will we talk about on the plane?"

"Sam, we've barely talked since you got back to DC," Ainsley answered, as they walked down the steps. "We have a lot of catching up to do. I want to hear all about your fiancée."

"Her name is Lauren. We met when--"

Ainsley's eyes got wide. "You're marrying a former hooker?"

"That was *Laurie.* This is Lauren. Two different names. Two different women." Sam sighed in frustration. "And she was a call girl, not a hooker," he added.

"Lauren was a call girl?"

"Laurie. Laurie was a call girl. Lauren is a lawyer. Neither of them was a hooker." Sam grimaced as he heard his own voice echoing down the stairwell. Yeah, it was possible he'd gotten a little carried away there.

To his surprise, Ainsley started laughing. He'd always enjoyed Ainsley's laughter, even when he was the object of her mirth. It was like her appetite—hearty and unself-conscious.

"Donna was right," she said.

"What?"

"Donna said if I started talking about the similarities in the two women's names, you'd come unspooled within three minutes."

"Oh, great. Now my friends are conspiring against me."

Ainsley put her hand on his arm and looked into his eyes, smiling. He had forgotten how Ainsley's eyes sparkled when she was amused. And how contagious that smile of hers could be. "Only because we love you, Sam, and we've all missed you these last few years." Before he could respond, she pulled her hand away. "Now, if you will excuse me, it is, I believe, cinnamon scone day in the Mess. I will meet you at 9 o'clock in the lobby."

He stood there for several seconds, watching Ainsley walk away.

"You know, I'm pretty sure that if Leo had ever seen me just standing on the stairs like that, he would have decided I didn't have enough work to keep me busy."

Josh's voice startled Sam out of his reverie.

"Let me ask you a hypothetical question," Sam said as he turned around and started to walk back upstairs with Josh. Ainsley had been right. It was cinnamon scone day in the Mess. Josh had a half-eaten scone in his hand and a few stray crumbs on his jacket.

"Okay."

"What if you had to go on a business trip with Amy Gardner?"

"I'd send you," Josh replied.

"No, really. What if you had to go on a business trip with Amy?"

"I would send you," Josh repeated. "I have served my time in hell."

"It's a hypothetical, Josh. Just humor me. If you went on a business trip with Amy—"

"I'd sen—"

"What would Donna say?" Sam sighed, glad to have finally posed his hypothetical question.

"That I should send you," Josh answered.

They had reached the top of the steps just in time to encounter Donna, who had clearly overheard the last part of the conversation.

"You're going on a business trip with Amy?" she asked, one very expressive eyebrow cocked in Josh's direction. "When did this get on the schedule?"

Josh looked to Sam for help.

"Uh, yeah," Sam said. "Hi, Donna. I, uh, my office is—" He pointed toward the bullpen. "I think I hear Ginger calling me."

As Sam sped away from them, Donna took a step nearer to Josh and brushed the remaining crumbs off his jacket. "You care to explain?" she asked.

"It was a hypothetical question," he said. "And I said I wouldn't go. I'd send Sam. I said that several times."

"I believe you."

"You do?"

"After last night, I have few doubts."

Josh beamed at her. "Yes, last night was..."

"Josh Lyman, I swear if you say 'nice'..."

"...amazing. How's that?"

Donna leaned in closer and patted his shoulder. "Good boy. You're learning." Before he could respond, she reached out and took the remaining cinnamon scone out of his hand. "I do, however, have one complaint."

"Funny," he replied with a smirk. "That's not what you said last night."

Donna put her hand around Josh's arm and started leading him back toward the Chief of Staff's office. "You left while I was still asleep this morning," she said quietly.

"I did, yes," he said. Like Donna, he lowered his voice so they wouldn't be overheard. "You know why? Because I am a thoughtful, considerate boyfriend who would never dream of waking up his girlfriend. Who was, I might add, completely and thoroughly exhausted. Because I was amazing last night."

Once again, Donna raised her eyebrow. Josh quickly corrected himself.

"*We* were amazing," he said. "Together."

"Which is why I was disappointed to wake up alone," Donna continued.

"Okay, I'm getting that I screwed up somewhere, but I'm not clear what I did."

"You left."

"To come to work. Cause I had an early meeting. And I was being nice and letting you sleep in." His brow furrowed. "If you can call 6 a.m. 'sleeping in.'"

"I don't want to sleep in," Donna replied. "Or if I do, I'm capable of going back to sleep after you leave. In the future, please note that I want you to wake me up before you leave."

"Why?"

"Because I like seeing your face in the morning. Your chin's all stubbly, your hair's flying in about sixteen different directions—What can I say?" She shrugged. "I like your face."

By now, they were standing directly in Margaret's line of sight. This precluded Josh giving Donna the rather thorough kiss he felt her remark called for. So he smiled and went for the banter instead. "Well, see, this puts me at a disadvantage cause I like to look at you when you're sleeping," he whispered. "You—"

Margaret coughed discreetly, calling his attention back to the real world. Donna let go of his arm and took a step back.

"Anyway," Donna said, "I was looking for you for a reason. We're going to have dinner with the President and the First Lady in the Residence tonight. I'll meet you here, and we'll walk over together."

"Wait!" he said, as Donna turned to go. "Dinner?"

"Yes," she said. "Mrs. Santos thinks the four of us should celebrate. Today's the FDA press conference, remember? Our first big foray into the policy arena?"

He sighed. "Right." He would have preferred a quiet evening with Donna, but he knew how important today's press conference was to her and how hard she was trying to encourage Helen Santos to pursue an active agenda. "Okay. Dinner in the Residence. With our bosses. Way to party."

He watched Donna walk away until Margaret coughed again.

"Yeah, Margaret, maybe you ought to do something about that cold," he quipped as he picked up a folder on her desk. It was then that he noticed the man sitting on the sofa across from his assistant.

The guy looked like what Sam had once referred to as "the funnel people." In his early fifties, maybe, with a choppy haircut, a graying mustache, and an old corduroy jacket—the kind with patches on the elbow. Josh wondered for a moment whether he should have Margaret call security.

Before he could reach a decision, Margaret introduced them. 

"This is Dr. Hubert Kaplan," she said. "He's your 7:30 appointment."

Hubert Kaplan extended his hand. "Bob sent me," he said.

SMASH CUT TO CREDITS

ACT ONE

INT. JOSH'S OFFICE—FRIDAY MORNING

"*Bob* sent you?" Josh repeated as he escorted Hubert Kaplan into his office.

"Yes," Kaplan replied. "I'm an old friend of Bob's. His brother David and I were roommates in college."

Okay, Josh thought, that would explain how Kaplan knew Toby Ziegler, but it didn't solve the mystery of how Kaplan had gotten on the White House Chief of Staff's schedule and past security.

"Excuse me a minute," Josh said, pivoting on his heels and heading back to Margaret's desk.

"Something wrong?" Margaret asked.

"Yes. No." Josh tried to think of a subtle way to ask the question that was bothering him. "This guy in my office says he's a friend of...uh, this friend of mine..."

Margaret nodded. "*Bob.*"

"Yeah. My friend Bob. Last time I talked to Bob, he didn't mention this guy, so who exactly made the

appointment?"

"I did," Margaret replied. "You're not the only friend *Bob* has in this building, you know."

Visions of subpoenas dancing in his head, Josh stared at Margaret in disbelief. "You talk to Bob?" he finally asked.

Margaret lowered her head. "*Bob* and I have been in touch since election night."

"Election night?" The truth suddenly dawned on Josh. "He called you when Leo died."

Margaret nodded.

A moment of silence passed between them, and then Margaret spoke. "I called *Bob* a few weeks ago."

"Why?"

"He has pre-schoolers," Margaret said, as though that explained everything.

"What? The guy in my office is Huck's nanny?"

If Margaret's exasperated expression was any indication, Josh thought, he'd overlooked some painfully obvious point. "I have a child," she said.

"We've met. He threw a handful of Trix at me."

"Cheerios," Margaret corrected. "Anyway, I called *Bob* and asked if he could recommend a pre-school."

"I'd have paid good money to see his face when you asked him that," Josh said, shaking his head in bewilderment.

"He was very helpful," Margaret replied. "So when he called last night and asked if I could get Dr. Kaplan in to see you today, of course I said yes."

"Of course."

Margaret glared at her boss. "After all, Josh, it's not as though *Bob* would send someone to see you if it wasn't important."

"You know, people are going to start catching on if you keep saying his name like that."

"Like what?"

"Like it's the secret password to unlock the nuclear missiles."

"I already know the password." Margaret shrugged. "It's not *Bob.*"

Finding his point was lost on his assistant, Josh returned to his office. To his surprise, Hubert Kaplan had taken several charts from his briefcase and spread them out on Josh's desk.

"We don't have a moment to lose, Mr. Lyman," Kaplan explained as Josh stared at the items on his desk. "The country's facing a natural disaster of massive proportions."

CUT TO:

INT. DONNA'S OFFICE

"Do *you* want to sit her down and tell her she comes off as cold on television?" Annabeth asked.

"I don't *want* to, but one of us has to do it," Donna replied. "And since you're her press secretary..."

Annabeth huffed. "All right. But you should be in the room."

"It'll look like we're ganging up on her." Donna fiddled with the pen in her hand as she talked. She stopped abruptly when she realized that the gesture was characteristic of Josh. Great, she thought. Some couples start to look like each other; *I* end up picking up my boyfriend's nervous mannerisms.

"We *are* ganging up on her." Annabeth walked to the side table and poured a glass of water. "What bothers me is, well, she comes off as aloof sometimes. Especially when she's reading a prepared statement. That's not her personality at all, but..."

"She doesn't like the spotlight." Donna stood up and joined Annabeth at the table. Reaching for the pitcher, she continued, "A year ago, she thought President Santos would be back in private life. She never imagined any of this—" She waved a hand to indicate the general grandeur of the East Wing—"and it makes her uncomfortable. Which sometimes translates into that aloof manner."

"She's passionate about the subject, though. That should help," Annabeth replied as she took a seat across from Donna's desk. "And deciding to move the press conference out of FDA headquarters and into the women's health center was an excellent move on your part. The more relaxed atmosphere should help."

"It came to me at the last tour Mrs. Santos did at the Karen Wallace Cancer Center," Donna beamed. "This will give more attention to the issue and not to the fact that it's the First Lady making the announcement. And it's positive reinforcement for her. Hearing the women describe their experiences will remind her why she's there."

"Our big problem will be avoiding the question," Annabeth pointed out.

Donna returned to her desk. "There is absolutely no good answer to the question."

"It's inevitable, though," Annabeth said. "The vaccine is for a sexually transmitted virus, and the FDA is recommending that girls as young as 10 be vaccinated. Name one reporter who isn't going to ask whether Miranda Santos will be getting the vaccine when she's old enough."

"Thank god for the Secret Service. At least they'll be able to get Mrs. Santos out of there before the reporters can ask the question. Then all we have to do is craft an answer before her interview with Katie Couric next week."

"We need to put together an answer that's truthful but doesn't bring the religious right down on our heads."

Donna sighed. "Yeah, that's an easy task."

CUT TO:

INT. SAM'S OFFICE

Sam Seaborn wasn't sure why he was feeling so guilty. After all, it wasn't as though Ainsley was an ex-girlfriend. He'd never slept with her; they'd never kissed; they'd never even had a date, unless you extended the definition of "date" to include eating cold take-out and spending hours of arguing over the wording of a legal brief.

Still, she was Ainsley. And he had to admit that there'd always been an attraction there. On his part, anyway. 

He couldn't even remember if he'd ever mentioned Ainsley's name to Lauren. Or whether Lauren would care that he would be traveling with a woman he was attracted to. Had been attracted to. Once. Before he'd met Lauren.

Lauren wasn't the jealous type. Still, he'd never understood why Josh's girlfriends didn't go ballistic whenever they saw Josh and Donna together. After all, some things were painfully obvious.

Not that he and Ainsley were anything like Josh and Donna. There had never been that level of intimacy between them.

Okay, so there had been times when he'd teased Ainsley about dancing around her office in a bathrobe. Or when they'd worked late, and Ainsley had fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder.

But Lauren had worked with some attractive guys. She understood that a little bit of flirtation happened.

Didn't she?

The longer he stared out the window, debating whether he was morally obligated to tell Lauren that he was traveling with Ainsley, the more confused Sam became. He reached for the phone twice to call his fiancée, pulling his hand back each time as though he had touched a hot stove. A discreet cough brought him out of his reverie.

Lou's deputy was standing in Sam's doorway.

"Lou thought it would be a good idea if you checked—"

Sam motioned for Otto to take a seat.

"Can I ask you a personal question?" Sam said.

Otto, looking confused, nodded.

"Have you ever been involved with someone you worked with?"

Otto gulped. "I don't know what you've been told," he said, "but it was—"

"Not involved, even. Just, you know, been attracted to someone."

"Uh, okay, attracted, yeah. That happens."

"So, hypothetically, the person you're with now—"

"I'm not exactly—"

"Imagine she doesn't know anything about this attraction. Which is strictly in the past, by the way. Hypothetically. And you're about to go on a business trip with this person you were once attracted to. Should you tell the woman you love about it?"

Otto's brow furrowed, as though composing the right answer took intense concentration. "No," he finally said. "Don't tell her."

"Why not?"

"There's no upside to it. Not for you or for her. She'll worry needlessly. You'll feel guilty over nothing. It's a lose/lose situation." 

Sam nodded. "That makes sense."

"Unless—"

"Unless what?" Sam asked.

"Well, if it's not really over," Otto pointed out, "you sort of have an obligation to let your fiancée know. I mean, that's only fair." 

Sam stared in bewilderment at the younger man for a moment. "Who said anything about my fiancée?"

CUT TO:

INT. JOSH'S OFFICE

"A natural disaster," Josh asked. "Where?"

"Mount St. Helens," Kaplan replied.

"Mount St. Helens the volcano?"

Hubert Kaplan rolled his eyes. "What other Mount St. Helens is there?"

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm a geoscientist with the USGS, Mr. Lyman," Kaplan explained. "I've been studying Mount St. Helens since the 1980 eruption. I was stationed at the Cascades Volcano Observatory for 10 years. Believe me when I tell you that I know that volcano the way you know voting districts. And I know that we're in for a major volcanic event."

Josh pointed at the stacks of papers on his desk. "And these charts are proof of that?"

"They are. You can see here that there's an increased level of volcanic activity in the region. Hell, forget the graphs. Call anybody who lives in the area and ask. They can tell you that we've been dealing with tremors for more than two months."

Josh thought back to the conversation he and Donna had had with Senator McBain during the inaugural balls. "But tremors don't necessarily mean the volcano's going to erupt, right?"

"In this case, that's exactly what it means. The number of earthquakes recorded over the past three days has reached peak levels. There've been 178 shocks with magnitudes greater than 2.6, which is four more than we had before she blew on May 18, 1980." He pointed to a photograph. "Aerial observations of Mount St. Helens over the past week reveal small earthquake-induced avalanches of snow and ice, but no sign of an eruption. Yet."

Josh swallowed hard.

"When she blows," Kaplan continued, "the result will be a major disaster, the likes of which we haven't seen in 25 years. We're talking about hundreds, maybe thousands, of people dying. And the general population doesn't know it's coming. They're going about their everyday business out there, completely unaware that they're about to re-enact the last days of Pompeii."

Josh thought back to the news coverage he'd seen in 1980. He had dim recollections of rescue efforts, people covered in ash, stories about people who had refused to leave the area and lost their lives. Mostly, he remembered the footage of the volcano itself and how surprised he had been that anyone had survived that devastation.

"If the situation is that bad," Josh asked, with his hands on his hips, "why are you here on your own? Why the cloak-and-dagger stuff to get an appointment? Why hasn't the USGS contacted President Santos directly?"

Kaplan grimaced. "Because it's run by politicians, not scientists. No offense. Lyle Edmonds, the guy Santos--" 

"*President* Santos," Josh responded automatically.

"President Santos," Kaplan continued, "appointed a hack. He's more interested in looking good, in making sure no one wastes his time on technical matters he probably can't understand. He refused to look at my findings because I haven't gone through what he calls 'the proper channels.' I finally gave up trying to talk to him and decided my best bet was to contact the White House directly.

"Look, Mr. Lyman, I'm not the only person who believes we're headed for disaster here. Tob--*Bob*--said to tell you that I'm not a..."

Kaplan stopped speaking and began digging through the pockets of his jacket. Josh watched as the scientist produced a compass, an inhaler, two red pens and a ost-it note. Glancing at the note, Kaplan said, "I'm not a 'big block of cheese guy,' whatever the hell that means."

If Josh needed any more convincing that this man was Toby's friend, he had it right there.

"I can give you the names of three colleagues of mine who believe that an eruption is imminent," Kaplan said.

He'd have to bring in those guys and plenty of other experts, Josh thought. People who could read all these graphs and make sense of them. People who could convince the President that Kaplan was correct. Josh shook his head, considering the sheer number of things he'd have to do in a relatively short period of time.

"You know how, back in the old days, coal miners used to take canaries down into the pits with them?" Kaplan asked. "When the canary died, that meant there was too much methane gas in the mine and it was time to get the hell out of there. Well, this—" Kaplan waved a hand in the direction of the charts on Josh's desk. "This is the canary in the coal mine. Mount St. Helens *is* going to erupt. If my predictions are correct, you have 72 hours to get people out of danger."

FADE TO BLACK

ACT TWO

INT. JOSH'S OFFICE/TOBY'S APARTMENT—FRIDAY MORNING

As soon as Kaplan departed, Josh gave Margaret a list of people he wanted in his office within the hour. Lyle Edmonds, head of the USGS, was at the top of that list. Closing the office door, Josh then pulled out his cell phone and dialed a familiar number.

"I suppose it's too much to hope that this is your idea of a practical joke," he said when Toby answered the phone.

"I suppose it's too much to hope that you're not calling me from the West Wing," Toby replied.

"You just sent someone to my office with the news that Mount St. Helens is going to erupt. In what universe did you think it was likely that I *wouldn't* call you?"

Josh could hear Toby's characteristic "I'm surrounded by idiots" sigh. "Bert came to see me yesterday and asked who he should talk to. I sent him on to you. Not being an expert on volcanoes myself, I don't know what more I can do."

"You can tell me whether he knows what he's talking about."

"Do we have a bad connection? Did you not hear the part where I said I'm no expert on volcanic activity?"

"Toby." Josh hoped his voice conveyed his level of frustration.

"All right," Toby grumbled. "Yes. I know Bert comes off as somewhat eccentric—"

"I miss your talent for understatement."

Toby, clearly, was choosing to ignore Josh's sarcasm. "Bert is the best at what he does. If he says the volcano is going to erupt, I would take him at his word. That doesn't mean you shouldn't confirm his findings with other experts. In fact, I'd put money on the fact that you've already given Margaret an extensive list of people to contact. All of which begs the question of why you found it necessary to call me."

Josh flopped onto the couch, rubbing one hand over his eyes. "I'm surrounded by neophytes here, Toby. Half of them still can't find their offices."

"You've got Sam. Donna's still in the building."

"The other side of the building," he complained.

"You do realize you're the only person who expected her to make a career out of answering your phone?"

"I didn't..." Josh wondered, not for the first time, why Toby had always been able to put him on the defensive so quickly. "My point is that I need to talk to someone with more experience. Someone I can trust."

"You have CJ's number, I assume?"

"Why are you making it so damn hard for any of us to remain friends with you?"

Several seconds of silence followed. When he finally answered, Toby was characteristically oblique.

"You're in Leo's office, aren't you?" he asked. "How long do you think you'd hold on to that office if President Santos knew you were still in touch with me?"

"I don't think that's relevant," Josh protested.

"Have you ever told him we're still in touch?"

It was Josh's turn to remain silent.

"That's what I thought," Toby said softly. "Goodbye, Josh."

Josh stared at the phone for several seconds after Toby hung up, debating whether to call him back. Before he could reach a decision, however, Margaret knocked on the door.

"Lyle Edmonds and three people with thick glasses and pocket protectors are waiting for you," she announced.

Acknowledging that the possibility of a natural disaster took precedence over his private concerns, Josh put his cell phone away. 

 

CUT TO:

INT. LOU'S OFFICE

So far this morning, Lou had made three calls in an effort to drum up support for today's FDA announcement. So far, she'd had mixed results. She'd gotten a positive response from the first congresswoman she'd called; two senators had declined, fearing the issue would prove too controversial for their more conservative constituents. She never had time, however, to find out whether a fourth call would have brought better results. Just as she was dialing the number, Lester came running into her office.

The anxious look on his face suggested that whatever he was there to tell her took precedence over drumming up support for their big win. Setting down the telephone, Lou declared, "This better be good news, Lester."

"It's not," the press secretary replied. "Well, it is, just not for us."

"What are you talking about?"

"Donna and Annabeth cured cancer before we could." He pointed to the television in the corner of Lou's office. "The First Lady's announcing the approval of the HPV vaccine now."

Sure enough, Helen Santos was standing on a stage, surrounded by a couple of FDA officials Lou recognized and several women she didn't. Lou watched as The First Lady gestured toward the women on her right. "Each one of these women has battled cervical cancer and won. However, almost 4,000 U.S. women will die from cervical cancer in the next year. This new vaccine is the first step in eliminating this terrible disease."

Lester cocked his head to one side and studied the image on the TV. "You can tell Annabeth's been working with her," he noted. "She's not coming off quite as still as she did in some of the campaign events. She—"

Lou turned and faced Lester. "You've got to be kidding me!" she said. "We're critiquing her performance? The First Lady just walked off with *our* issue." Lou began digging through the papers on her desk. "When did this happen? Why didn't Donna send me word that this was on their agenda?" Lou moved to the office door and shouted for her assistant.

"Call Annabeth Schott's office," Lou said. "Tell her I want to see her as soon as she gets back from..." Lou turned to Lester. "Where the hell are they anyway?"

"The Karen Wallace Health Center," Lester replied.

"What he said. Hell, tell Donna Moss I need to see her too."

Lou sat back down, leaned her head back, and let out a deep breath. "So," she said, "I guess this means we need another win."

CUT TO:

INT. DULLES INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

"I adore airports," Ainsley declared.

They had just spent 40 minutes waiting in line at security. The flight to Walla Walla would take 12 hours. All things considered, Sam was not sharing Ainsley's enthusiasm for air travel.

"The flight to Denver will take almost three hours," he said, as he grabbed Ainsley's carry-on. "Then we have a two-hour layover, followed by a flight to Boise. Who the hell connects in Boise?"

"Today, we do."

"Then we have to wait two-and-a-half hours to get a one-hour flight to Walla Walla. We probably won't get to our hotel until 7 p.m., assuming that the planes are on time. Please explain to me why all this is a good thing?"

"First, it gives us plenty of time to discuss the Superfund suit," Ainsley said as they began the walk to their flight's gate. "But most importantly—" She waved a hand in the direction of the food court. "—there is airport food. I love airport food." 

Sam shook his head. "Only you would say something like that."

"Pizza by the slice, Sam." Ainsley's eyes seemed to light up at the prospect. "Cinnabon! Hot pretzels. Those giant-sized chocolate chip cookies. Eating at the airport is like a holiday all by itself."

Before Sam could reply, Ainsley headed for the Auntie Annie's kiosk. "What are you having?" she asked.

"A headache," Sam said sarcastically.

Smiling, Ainsley pointed in the opposite direction. "You can get Tylenol over there. That's something else I love about airports. You can find almost anything you need right here."

Sam, mentally acknowledging that it was futile to come between Ainsley and her appetite, found an empty table and deposited their luggage on two of the seats. Amused despite himself, he watched as Ainsley moved from counter to counter, purchasing pretzels, cookies, and Chinese food.

"No pizza?" he asked, when she returned to their table with a tray laden with her purchases.

"Maybe later." Apparently noticing his smirk, she added, "As you pointed out, Sam, we have a long flight ahead of us."

"*Three* long flights."

"So," Ainsley continued, "I felt it necessary to purchase several items we can snack on should we become hungry during our travels." 

"Because there won't be any food available in Denver or Boise?"

"I'm sure there will be," Ainsley said as she handed Sam a pretzel. "However, I always find that it is best to be prepared when traveling. Which reminds me, I should bring along extra knives and forks." With that, she got up and left the table.

One thing about traveling with Ainsley, Sam thought. It was never boring. The last time he and Lauren had flown, they'd had started getting on each other's nerves somewhere between the second and third cancelled flight. Not that Lauren could be blamed for that.

Sam took his cell phone out and stared at it guiltily. With one last look at Ainsley (who seemed to be debating whether to get another pretzel), he called Lauren's office. He got her voice mail.

"Hey, it's me," he said. "I'm at the airport. It'll be 7 or so before we get in, but I'll try to call you again from Denver. Anyway, I love you, and I'll call you back as soon as I can."

Putting away the phone, Sam stared in Ainsley's direction and wondered why it was he felt as though he'd just lied to his fiancée. 

CUT TO:

INT. JOSH'S OFFICE

"Hubert Kaplan is a notorious troublemaker," Lyle Edmonds said.

"I don't care whether he's a pain in the ass," Josh replied. "I just want to know if he's right."

Edmonds, who had to be at least 6'5," stood up. Josh recognized the move immediately: the guy was used to using his height to his advantage and was attempting to dominate the room by towering over everyone. Not that the three scientists studying the charts Kaplan had provided seemed to notice.

"I've received no information that Kaplan is on to something," Edmonds told Josh.

"Please have a seat, Lyle," Josh said in a commanding tone he'd learned from Leo long ago. The words might have been couched as a request, but everyone in the room understood that Josh had just pulled rank. After an unsuccessful attempt to stare Josh down, Edmonds returned to his chair.

"Kaplan is no longer stationed at the CVO," Edmonds said. "He has made no direct observation of the activity at Mount St. Helens." 

Edmonds was becoming too defensive, Josh thought. Everything from his transparent attempt to gain control of the room to the way his fingers tapped nervously against his thigh indicated that the man was hiding something.

"Kaplan told me that what he has showed me is the latest information from the observatory," Josh pointed out. "Are you saying that he lied?"

"Lied?" Edmonds hesitated for a moment. "No," he said, "I don't think he was lying." He glanced toward the papers Kaplan had left on Josh's desk. "I just don't agree with his analysis of the situation."

"But you're not a geologist, right?"

"No," Edmonds replied, "and neither are you."

"I'm well aware of that," Josh said. "That's why I brought in Drs. Powers, D'Acci and Warth to look this stuff over." He turned to the three scientists who had been carrying on an intense conversation on the other side of the room. "What do you think? Is Mount St. Helens going to erupt or not?"

Powers spoke first. "I'd need more details to be sure," she said. "But we all agree that there is reason for caution. We seem to be divided on how imminent the threat is, however. As you can see from these graphs, there have been occasional spasms and ground shakings different from the sharp jolts characteristic of earthquakes." She pointed to a red line on the graph. "These vibrations have been associated with eruptions at volcanoes in Hawaii, Iceland and Japan. Some scientists would interpret this as subsurface movement of fluids, either gas or magma."

"I'm afraid I disagree with my colleague," Warth said. He waved the print-outs in front of him. "These are very disturbing. There's visible swelling and cracking already. Here's a photo taken two months ago, and here's one taken three days ago. Clearly the bulge near the summit has doubled in size. It's not purely gas that's pushing against the surface. It's magma."

Powers nodded. "It's like blowing a bubble with your gum. It doesn't matter how slowly and carefully you do it, that bubble is eventually going to pop. Only, in the case of a volcano, molten rock and ash will flow from the erupted dome."

"Given the history of Mount St. Helens, do you really want to take any chances?" Warth asked.

D'Acci, the most experienced of the three, regarded Warth skeptically. "It's more likely that it's gas, in which case the expression 'blowing off some steam' comes to mind. Besides, the latest activity was three days ago. That was after three weeks without any trouble. I know Mount St. Helens as well as anyone, including Dr. Kaplan. After all, I was one of the first people to predict the 1980 eruption. I don't believe we're seeing the same kind of activity here that we did then. The bottom line is that I tend to agree with Mr. Edmonds. It's too soon to panic."

"I'd say the real danger right now is that the President will waste money and resources on something that isn't a threat," Edmonds said. Josh would tell the head of the USGS was gaining confidence from the fact that not all of the scientists agreed with Kaplan's interpretation of the data.

Warth looked at Edmonds in disbelief. "You're more concerned with money than with the possibility that lives could be lost?"

"Of course not," Edmonds replied. "I'd be the first to demand action if I thought this was a real threat. But I'm convinced that no such threat exists." He turned toward Josh. "And that's what I intend to tell the President."

FADE TO BLACK

ACT THREE

INT. OVAL OFFICE, FRIDAY AFTERNOON

As a congressman, Matt Santos had favored informality. He didn't like distancing himself from his constituents or his staff. The staff had been encouraged to call him by his first name; he tried to make as many trips back to his district as possible and preferred to have long conversations with the people he served rather than just posing for photo ops.

Being president, however, sometimes seemed to be about nothing as much as distance. Most of his contact with the American people these days came in the form of poll results. Instead of hearing directly from the experts, it seemed that he was always being given summaries of the information from his advisors.

And today's crisis was too important for that.

"What you're telling me is that none of these people can agree on what the data mean," he told his chief of staff.

"There's an unusually high level of activity in the area," Josh pointed out. "They all seem to agree with that."

"Except for Edmonds." the President pointed out. "From what you've said, Lyle doesn't seem to think that anything out of the ordinary is going on."

"Edmonds isn't a scientist," Josh replied. "He's a political appointee who wants to hold on to his job."

Santos nodded. "Point taken. However, none of this information seems conclusive enough to merit evacuating the Mount St. Helens area. Why are you giving so much credence to what Kaplan told you?"

"Several reasons." Josh cleared his throat. "The most important one is Dr. Kaplan's expertise. Almost everyone I've talked to—even the people who disagree with him—concede that Hubert Kaplan knows more about Mount St. Helens than anyone else in his field."

"And the other reasons?" Something else was going on here, Santos thought. His chief of staff wasn't an alarmist. In fact, the President would have bet that Josh normally would have advised him to keep an eye on the situation but not rush into any action which might cause the public to panic.

"We're talking about a situation where thousands of people could die. I don't think we should take a chance that the problem will just go away."

The President nodded. "But on the other hand, we don't want to waste millions of dollars because one man misread some data."

"No, sir." Josh's clipped tone of voice indicated to Santos that Josh disagreed with the President's reading of the situation. "But from what I understand, there have been earthquakes in the area in the past three days than there were in 1980. And I've got two more experts telling me that there's magma pushing against the surface."

"What do the other experts say?"

"That's it's gas," Josh conceded, "and nothing to be concerned about. Yet. They do advise keeping a close watch on the area, however."

Santos shook his head. "Josh, I can't reach this decision based merely on the summaries of what you've been told. I need more information. Bring in Edmonds and these experts of yours. I need to talk to them directly before I take any action."

Josh stood silently for several seconds, as though he was debating whether to say something else. Finally, he said, "Sir, it's my duty as Chief of Staff to advise you. And the best advice I can give you right now is to listen to Hubert Kaplan. I have good reason for placing my confidence in him."

As Josh left the room, Santos wondered what there was about this situation, and Dr. Hubert Kaplan, that Josh wasn't telling him.

CUT TO:

INT. LOU'S OFFICE.

She hadn't been here in months.

With her new job as press secretary to Helen Santos, Annabeth rarely had reason to visit the West Wing. She preferred it that way. The Communications Offices especially held more memories than she wanted to deal with. Too many people she had come to care about when she worked here were gone; she thought about them—about one, in particular—too often as it was.

Annabeth hardly had time to take in the changes to the area, however, before Lou waved her into the Communications Director's office.

Annabeth took a seat on the couch she still thought of as Toby's and waited as Lou closed the door.

"Where's Donna? I needed to talk to you both." Hearing the annoyance in Lou's voice, Annabeth couldn't help smiling. Maybe there was something about the atmosphere in this office; Lou sounded almost as cranky as Toby.

"Donna was in a meeting with the First Lady," Annabeth explained. "I told her assistant not to call her out of it."

Lou frowned but didn't argue the point. Sitting back down at her desk, she told Annabeth, "We have a problem. You stole our issue."

"I'm sorry." Annabeth looked confused. "What do you mean *your* issue?"

"We had plans," Lou said. "Lester and I spent the morning working on how best to spin the FDA announcement to the administration's advantage. You didn't ask us for permission to take this on, and now we're all screwed."

"I wasn't aware we had to run this sort of thing by you, Lou."

"The West Wing controls the message of this administration, and it starts in my office," Lou replied. "You can't just decide that you want the First Lady to take on some issue without clearing it with us first."

Annabeth's brow creased as she sought a way to defend her position without offending Lou. "Donna and I weren't the ones who made that decision. Mrs. Santos picked that issue, and we work for her."

"Since when does Helen Santos take on policy issues?" Lou scoffed.

"It took a while for her to adjust," Annabeth admitted, "but she's decided to use her influence on more important issues than planning Easter egg hunts on the White House law. And she has a talented staff who can help her execute those ideas. What's wrong with that?"

"Theoretically, there's nothing wrong with it," Lou conceded. "Hell, I like that she's taking a more active role. We just need to know about these things first. We were just lucky this time. If I hadn't told Lester to cover the FDA announcement in the afternoon, we would have looked like idiots."

The wheels started turning in Annabeth's head. "You wanted to use the announcement to control the news cycle, didn't you?"

Lou nodded. "Of course I did. I'm Communications Director for the Titanic, and we're taking on water fast."

Annabeth's forehead crinkled as she tried to work out the metaphor. "Does that make us the iceberg?"

Lou frowned. "More like you're the captain on the other ship who ignores our distress signal. Or something. And someone in the West Wing should have been told you were planning this."

"Josh knew about it weeks ago. So did President Santos."

"The boyfriend and the husband." Lou shook her head. "Apparently, neither of them took it seriously enough to pass the word on to the staff."

Annabeth smiled as she headed for the door. "That's something you have to take up with them."

"Where are you going?" Lou asked.

"Back to the..." Annabeth paused. "I have no idea what the name of the ship was that rescued the Titanic passengers."

"Oh, for God's sake, Annabeth, forget about the damn Titanic. Just tell Donna that I need to know before she lets the First Lady get in front of the cameras with hot topic issues like this."

"You're welcome to tell her yourself, Lou. Call her assistant, and I'm sure she'd be happy to arrange a meeting between you and the First Lady's Chief of Staff." Her sense of humor resurfacing, Annabeth added, "In the meantime, I'm sure your heart will go on."

CUT TO:

INT. JOSH'S OFFICE

"Lou has a crush on Leonardo diCaprio. Pass the fries."

From his seat on the sofa, Josh stared at Donna in surprise. "Are you kidding?"

"No," Donna replied. She leaned back in her chair and grinned. "I really want those fries."

He pushed the package of fries across the coffee table. "Lou and Leonardo diCaprio? That sounds so wrong on so many levels."

Donna shrugged. "I'm being mean-spirited and petty. Ignore me."

"Is this one of those things I'm supposed to respond to as your boyfriend, or are we talking as two Chiefs of Staff here?"

"Forget it," Donna said. "I am not going to run to my boyfriend every time I disagree with someone on this side of the building. And it's nothing major. Just a minor communication problem."

"That's ironic."

"What's ironic?"

"You having communication problems with Lou," Josh answered. "Since she's Communications Director." He leaned back against the sofa and closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, Donna was clearing the leftovers off the table. "You fell asleep," she told him.

"How long?"

"Ten minutes." She joined him on the sofa, kicking off her shoes. "And you didn't eat much either. What's bothering you?"

"Many things."

Donna scooted closer to him, her arm going around his shoulder. "Are these things you can talk about, or is it something classified?"

"It's..." His voice trailed off as he tried to figure out a way to discuss what had been bothering him since this morning's phone call. Finally, he asked, "Do you ever miss Toby?"

"Every day," Donna replied solemnly.

"He's such a self-righteous jerk sometimes. I swear it's like he enjoys being miserable." Josh laughed bitterly. "Maybe that's why he did it—just so he could play the martyr. I can't think of any other reason that makes sense."

"You'll drive yourself crazy if you try to figure it all out," Donna said. "I've gone over it a hundred times, and I can't make sense of it."

"Maybe he got the information from his brother. David was an astronaut; he might have known."

"Maybe," Donna said. "I doubt we'll ever know for sure." She stared at Josh for a moment. "Why are you thinking about this now?

He stood up, distancing himself from Donna and stared out the window. "I'm Chief of Staff." He knew it sounded as though he was changing the subject, but he also knew that Donna understood that sometimes he needed to get to an issue in a roundabout manner.

"Yes, you are."

"And Toby, even though he was pardoned, is guilty of leaking state secrets."

He heard Donna get up from the sofa. In a minute, she was standing behind him. She snaked her arm around his waist and leaned her head against his.

"Toby would be the first to understand," she said. "If you can't be friends with him, he won't hold it against you."

"But I'll hold it against myself." He turned to face Donna. "Toby's like a brother to me. How do I just turn my back on him?"

"I doubt that anyone who knows you, *really* knows you, thinks you can." She smiled. "So tell me, when was the last time you talked to Bob?"

He groaned. "Not you too."

"Yes, I'm afraid I've cracked your secret code."

"How?"

"I'm the one who told him about Leo."

He put his arms around her. "I should have done that."

"You had enough to deal with," she said as she hugged him. "And I couldn't bear to think of Toby learning about it on the news."

Letting go of Donna, he leaned against the window. "So what should I do? Should I tell the President that I'm still in contact with Toby or not?"

Just as Donna was about to reply, the door between Josh's office and the Oval Office opened.

"Tell me you're not basing your recommendations to me on information you got through Toby Ziegler," Matt Santos said.

CUT TO:

INT. DENVER INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

Sam was surprised how much he was enjoying the trip. Not only had they gotten a fair amount of work done during the flight, he'd actually enjoyed sharing Ainsley's junk-food stash. And, of course, he enjoyed spending time with Ainsley—just two old friends reconnecting.

That was all it was, really, he thought as he watched Ainsley wander through the food court.

But then she noticed him watching her. He could have sworn that the smile she gave him and the way she waved at him was, well, flirtatious.

It was a ridiculous idea, of course. He was engaged. Ainsley knew he was engaged; and Ainsley, he knew, was far too principled to even think about getting involved with an almost-married man.

"I'm imagining things," he muttered to himself.

Still, for some reason, he felt guilty. He took out his cell phone and called Lauren. Once again, he got her voicemail.

"Hi there," he said. "Guess you're still in court. I'll call you back when we get into Walla Walla. Did I mention that Ainsley Hayes is here? I've mentioned Ainsley before, right? The Republican lawyer who worked for Oliver Babish? Anyway, she's back in the West Wing." He paused, wondering whether his confession—and why did he think of it as a confession, anyway?—was helping or hurting. "So we're in Denver, and I miss you. Talk to you soon."

He spent several minutes staring at Ainsley before he realized that he'd neglected to add "I love you" in his message to Lauren.

CUT TO:

INT. JOSH'S OFFICE

"I apologize, Donna," Matt Santos said. "I didn't realize you were here."

"Should I stay, sir?" she asked. "Because, if the subject is Toby, I—"

Josh realized he needed to cut her off before she ended up jeopardizing her own career. "I think you'd better leave," he told her.

He could tell by the way she pursed her lips that she

disagreed, but she didn't argue. Instead, she squeezed his hand once for moral support and said goodbye.

The President waited until Donna left the room before he started the interrogation.

"Did you think I wouldn't ask a few questions about Hubert Kaplan's background?" Santos asked. "And that I wouldn't find out he's a friend of Toby Ziegler's?"

"I didn't think it was relevant," Josh said. "The issue is what you think of Dr. Kaplan's findings, not who he roomed with in college."

Matt Santos leaned against Josh's desk and folded his arms. "Can you honestly tell me you would take Kaplan's warnings so seriously if your old friend hadn't recommended him?"

Josh pondered the question for a moment, then replied. "No, sir, I can't tell you that. I don't know. But I do know that you'd be wrong to dismiss Dr. Kaplan simply because he knows Toby Ziegler."

"We have a serious problem here, Josh," Santos replied. He crossed the room, closing the distance between himself and his senior counselor. "In fact, we have two serious problems. There's the immediate question of whether to evacuate the area surrounding Mount St. Helens. Then there's the long-term question of whether I can trust a Chief of Staff who lies to me."

Josh had lost his temper with another President years ago. It was not an experience he wanted to repeat. He took a deep breath and reminded himself to stay calm. "Due respect, sir," he said, "I have never lied to you."

"You certainly neglected to give me the full story," Santos replied. "A lie of omission, at the very least. I need a Chief of Staff I can trust."

So there it was, Josh thought. Everything he'd worked for—his chance to follow in Leo's footsteps, going just like that. "Are you asking for my resignation, sir?"

The two men stared at each other for several moments. Finally, the President said, "No, I don't want to do that. Not just because you got me here, but because you're the best person for this job. But Toby Ziegler—" He shook his head in disbelief. "You're too politically savvy, Josh. The man is radioactive, pardon or no pardon. What the hell were you thinking?"

"That he's my friend," Josh said. "That there were times when it would have been politically expedient for Toby to distance himself from me, but he never did."

"I admire your loyalty, but I doubt that you ever leaked state secrets to the New York Times."

"If I had," Josh answered with a smile, "Toby would have kicked my ass. But he would never have deserted me."

Santos sat down, clasping his hands together in a gesture that suddenly reminded Josh of President Bartlet.

"Under no circumstances are you to ever discuss anything that happens in this building with Toby Ziegler," Santos finally said. "If I even suspect that's happening, you're out of here. You can pass that message on to Sam Seaborn, to Donna, to anyone here who knows Ziegler."

"Yes, sir."

"Other than that, the government has no right to tell you how to pick your friends. Although I would prefer it if your friendship didn't become public knowledge, at least until Baker is confirmed." With that, the President stood up and headed for the Oval Office. "By the way," he added, "if I find out you've been keeping any other information from me, you'll be out of this building in record time."

"I understand," Josh said. "But that still leaves us with the question of what to do about the situation at Mount St. Helens."

After a moment's pause, Santos said, "Based on everything I've heard today, I believe our best policy is to monitor the situation for another week. We'll look at the data and monitor the situation closely over the next week."

"I believe that's a mistake."

"Well, in that case," Santos replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "you won't have been the only person to have made a major mistake today, will you?"

END ACT THREE

ACT FOUR

INT. FIRST LADY'S OFFICE—FRIDAY AFTERNOON

"I hope you don't mind, Lou, but I thought it would be a good idea to move this meeting to my office. After all, if you're all discussing my taking a more active role in policy issues, I really should be present."

"No, ma'am," the White House Communications Director replied. The First Lady did notice, however, that Lou's smile seemed a little forced.

Maybe there was something in the water, Helen thought. For some reason, Annabeth had started humming that annoying Celine Dion song as soon as Lou arrived. As for Donna, she'd been uncharacteristically nervous ever since lunch. She'd left twice before Lou arrived, each time muttering about expecting an important phone call from Josh.

"I suppose we should get started," Helen said. "Exactly what is the problem, Lou?"

Lou cleared her throat. "Mrs. Santos," she said, "I want you to understand that no one in my office objects to your taking on an important issue like the HPV vaccine. It's just that we need to be kept in the loop."

"Lou doesn't want it to seem as though the East Wing and the West Wing are at odds," Annabeth explained. Her eyes twinkled as she added, "Otherwise, we'll slam right into that iceberg."

"What?" Helen asked.

"Nothing, ma'am," Lou said, with a pointed look in Annabeth's direction. "Your press secretary has an odd sense of humor, that's all." 

"Well, I wish somebody would let me in on the joke."

"You see, Lou compared herself to the captain of the Titanic, and..." Annabeth's voice trailed off as Donna opened the door. 

"I'm sorry I'm late, Mrs. Santos," she said. The tense body language Helen had noted earlier was gone. Her Chief of Staff was her normal, smiling self.

"Is everything okay?" Helen asked.

"It will be," Donna assured her. Taking a seat on the couch next to Lou, she asked, "Have you explained your concerns to the First Lady?"

Lou nodded. "It's important that our messages be coordinated," she said, brushing a stray lock of hair off her forehead. "I admit that you guys beat us on the HPV issue, and you did a great job planning the event. But imagine how much stronger we'd both have been if we'd put your resources and ours together."

"I'm certainly in favor of a stronger message," Donna replied. "We just don't want our issues put on the back-burner when the Communications Department has other matters to deal with. Look, Lou, I understand your concerns. I worked in the White House for seven years. I've seen a few battles between the First Lady's office and the West Wing, and I don't want that happening during this administration."

"So what should we do?" Helen asked.

"I think we need someone to serve as a liaison between Lou's department and us," Donna suggested. "Annabeth seems like the perfect person to do that. She's worked in the Communications Office over there, plus she knows exactly what our message is. If Lou has any problems with our plans in the future, Annabeth can relay them to us. We'll work out any compromises from there."

"That seems like a reasonable solution to me," Helen replied. "Lou?"

"Fine," Lou agreed. "As long as she promises never to mention the Titanic again."

CUT TO:

EXT. WALLA WALLA AIRPORT—FRIDAY EVENING

"Four airports in one day." Sam shook his head in amazement. "Even you must be tired of them by now."

"I will admit that I want a hot shower and room service," Ainsley said.

Sam stepped off the curb and hailed a taxi, Ainsley close behind him. "Of course you'd mention room service." He grinned as he held the taxi door open for her.

She stepped into the cab, smiling back up at him. "Admit it, Sam. My appetite is one of my more appealing quirks." 

Sam gave the driver the name of their hotel, then turned back to Ainsley. "It's hard to decide. You have so many quirks to choose from." He rubbed the back of his neck, which felt stiff after a long day of sitting in cramped airplane and walking through four airport concourses with three pieces of carry-on luggage.

"Did I thank you for carrying my luggage?"

"I was repaid in pretzels and Cinnabons. What more can a man ask for?"

Ainsley gave him what, from anyone else, would have been considered a suggestive look. But that was ridiculous, Sam thought. He and Ainsley were just old friends.

CUT TO:

INT. JOSH'S OFFICE

"I screwed up today, didn't I?" Josh asked as Donna walked into the room.

He'd been lying on the couch, ostensibly reading. Donna read the letters "USGS" on the cover before Josh tossed the book to the floor, where it landed face down. She took a seat on the edge of the sofa and cupped his cheek with her hand. "You're doing that thing where you brood for hours, aren't you?"

"I'm not brooding," he said defensively. "I'm pondering."

"And what are you pondering?" she asked softly.

"Whether he'll ever trust me the way President Bartlet trusted Leo."

"Josh." She leaned in and kissed him gently. "It's not the same situation. Leo and President Bartlet had decades of friendship before they ever got to the White House."

"And I've had almost two years with President Santos on the campaign trail, and he still doubts me."

"Do you think Jed Bartlet never disagreed with Leo? That they never fought over any issues? Just because we didn't see it..." She shrugged. "I guess all that proves is that they didn't believe in arguing in front of the children."

Josh sat up, running a hand through his hair in his characteristic gesture of frustration. "That's what it feels like. We were the children—you and me, CJ, Sam. Toby. And I'm not ready. I never thought I'd have to do this job without Leo here to guide me. The whole issue of Toby—he would have told me how to explain it months ago and make the President understand. Now, I've messed it up."

"Leo knew you'd be in this office," Donna pointed out. "He spent all those years preparing you for it. If he'd thought for one minute that you weren't ready, he would have told you during the campaign. As much as he loved you, he would never have let you come so far before you were ready." She patted his leg. "And if you don't believe me, you can always ask Toby's opinion. Now, come on," she said as she stood up. "We've got a dinner to go to, and it's impolite to keep the leader of the free world waiting."

INT. FIRST FAMILY'S RESIDENCE

It could have been worse, Helen Santos thought. At least she and Donna were talking. They'd said everything they could think of regarding the FDA announcement; they'd discussed the plans for the Couric interview; they'd recounted the story of their meeting with Lou. Their significant others, however, had done little more than grunt in reply.

Matt was clearly angry with Josh for some reason. Every time he glanced in Josh's direction, her husband grimaced as though recalling something unpleasant.

Donna, obviously, had some idea about what was going on between the two men. Helen noticed the looks passing between the couple, and she would have sworn that Donna had put her hand on Josh's leg under the table. A moment later, she thought she saw Josh reach down as though he were giving Donna's hand a quick squeeze.

Helen, determined to be the perfect hostess, tried to keep the conversation going. "I'm really glad we decided to use the health center for the announcement," she said. She took a sip of iced tea. "I think it helped focus attention on the women whose lives are affected by cervical cancer."

Donna glanced at the President, obviously determined to make another attempt to bring him into the conversation.

"You would have been proud of her, sir," Donna said. "Mrs. Santos was completely in control of that stage."

"I'm sure I would have been," he said, then went back to eating his dessert. Helen considered kicking him under the table. If she hadn't been afraid that he'd yell and bring the Secret Service down on their heads, she might have tried it.

"It was Donna and Annabeth who deserve the credit," Helen said. "They spent dozens of hours arranging this thing. Not to mention all the time they put into helping me practice my delivery."

Neither Josh nor Matt said a word.

She swore to herself if at least one of the men didn't start talking soon, she'd resort to desperate measures. She wondered if there were any board games in the residence.

She was almost relieved when Matt got up to take a phone call.

"All right," she said once her husband left the room. "Will one of you please tell me what's going on here?"

Josh and Donna stared at one another guiltily.

"I warn you," Helen said, "I'm the mother of two small children. I have pictures. Albums and albums full of pictures. I'm not above making my guests go through every one of them. This can last for hours and hours. You may not make it home before dawn. Some people might call it blackmail; I prefer to think of it as a last-ditch effort to save a dying dinner party."

"It's nothing, ma'am," Josh said. "The President and I disagreed on something today."

"No kidding," Helen muttered.

Josh stared at his plate again. "What did you say these were again?" he asked.

"Pecan tarts." She was going to ask for details about the quarrel when her husband returned to the room.

For the first time that evening, Matt Santos spoke directly to Josh.

"Looks like you were right," he said.

TO BE CONTINUED

Coming Next Week on TWW Fantasy Eight: 18 Episodes of a JD-centric

Season of The West Wing

Episode 8.5: Layers Upon Lahars

 

 

The President and his staff deal with their first natural disaster:

 

LOU: "You need to be straight with me, the Communications Director!" She

pointed a finger at her chest.

 

Issues of trust come into play:

 

"I warned him," he said unable to hold it in any longer.

"Warned who?"

 

 

One staffer lets Josh down:

 

"This isn't the campaign, and you aren't working for a Congressman

anymore. You serve the President of the United States. Sam's stuck in

the middle of this mess, and in his absence, I need you to step up!"

 

 

While someone unexpected steps up to the plate:

 

"My wife was willing to let you come over to the dark side?"

"Only for this evening, sir." She smiled.

 

 

One couple leans on each other for support:

 

 

"I don't know what to do," he whispered.

"Trust your instincts."

 

And two people with an unresolved past are forced into tight quarters:

 

"We're sharing a room."

Stay tuned next Wednesday for episode 8.5!


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